Pain
by Tygeress
Summary: SLASH! Harry and Draco are 'special friends,' in a non-platonic manner. Chapter Six is here! All hail! ^_^
1. After all, where else can hair grow . . ...

Harry Potter, aged nine, was in his cupboard, doing homework when Uncle Vernon snatched open the door, almost ripping it off its hinges

Ritual Disclaimer: This belongs to Joanne Katherine Rowling, otherwise known as Supreme Author of All, who is my personal close friend (I'm not lying, really I'm not!).

Ritual Warning: As I said in the summary, this is SLASH. Two boys who are 'special friends' in a non- platonic way. All homophobics, whether they realize it or not shall run away. But if you must flame, please do it w/o cursing me, questioning my sexuality, or writing 'U' and 'R' instead of 'you' and 'are'. Thanks

Harry Potter, aged nine, was in his cupboard doing homework, when Uncle Vernon snatched open the door, almost ripping it off its hinges. "You," he said, pointing one sausage-like finger at Harry's chest, "and I need to have a talk."

Trembling, Harry followed his uncle into the living room, where Dudley was already sitting on the couch. He lowered himself onto the floor, and waited. As Vernon seated himself in the armchair on the other side of the room, Harry noticed that he was avoiding any eye contact with Dudley and himself, and had, in fact, turned an interesting shade of red. _'Is he embarrassed?' _thought Harry curiously, _What could make Uncle Vernon go all scarlet like that?_

He found out all to soon.

"Boys," said Vernon, still not meeting their eyes, "let me tell you about the birds and the bees . . ."

What followed was one of the most bewildering moments in Harry's life. Uncle Vernon would just_ not_ stop talking about things like, 'nocturnal emissions,' or 'hair in strange places.' _'What kind of strange places?'_ wondered Harry, then he thought of pictures he'd seen on T.V. of men with hair on their chests. _That must be what he's talking about. After all, where else can hair grow?_

When he was finally finished, Vernon wiped his brow, and said, "now, do you have any questions?"

At these words, Harry's curiosity began waging an internal battle with his common sense. As had happened so often before, curiosity won out, and Harry asked timidly, "Er . . . do boys ever like . . . other boys? You know, the way they like girls?"

Uncle Vernon glared at him, and turned redder, if that was possible, "I should've known you'd ask something like that," he growled, "Well . . . yes. It does happen. It is _not_ normal, no matter what anyone tells you. It's called homosexuality, and if I ever catch you, either of you, engaging in that sort of thing, let me tell you, you will get the beating of your life! I'm saying this especially to you," and he pointed at Harry, "because that seems like it would be right up your alley. Dudley I'm not too worried about, he's a real man. But you . . . Do you understand me?"

The two boys nodded, Harry sighing a little as he did so, thinking of the oh-so-delectable young blond who sat next him in math class, and resigning himself to life without him.

Uncle Vernon left the room, leaving Harry and Dudley alone together.

"I can't believe you said that!" Dudley said, sneering at Harry, "I'll bet _you're_ a ho-, a ho-, you know, what Daddy said."

Harry just left the room, ignoring Dudley, and wishing that it wasn't so abnormal to like other boys. 

Six years later, Harry was right in the middle of the aforementioned puberty. As Vernon had prophesized so many years before, hair _was_ beginning to grow in strange places. Different feelings were coursing through his veins, and most importantly, he was beginning to have those dreams his uncle had spoken about. Harry wasn't sure how many times he'd woken up and had to change his sheets, but he knew it was an awful lot. 

Now it wasn't the fact that he had these dreams that worried Harry. After all, hadn't Uncle Vernon said that it was all perfectly normal? No, what was worrying Harry was the subject of his dreams. He often woke up sweating and excited, however slightly confused, for his dreams always seemed to feature, not only Harry (obviously) but someone else. Specifically a _male_ someone else. Harry remembered the little talk he'd been given, and most importantly, how adamant Uncle Vernon had been against homosexuality. But even that only composed about two percent of what was bothering Harry. What was really disturbing him, was that the main character of these dreams was increasingly blond and pale, and usually had a strong resemblance to a certain Draco Malfoy. This was annoying, because, as Harry had so often thought before, if there was anyone he hated more than his cousin Dudley, Draco Malfoy was it. But if he were wrong . . . well then that changed everything.

Across the country, Draco Malfoy was suffering from much the same problem. Harry had become a regular participant in his wet dreams about a year ago, and as they became increasingly explicit and X-rated, Draco had become increasingly embarrassed and confused. _What kind of Malfoy, _wondered Draco, _thinks about his worst enemy like this? _he asked himself after the fifteenth or sixteenth such dream. He had also had the 'birds and bees' talk with his father, minus the sausage-fingers and other 'charming' details Harry had been made to suffer through (it is a well-known fact that all Malfoys have fingers and toes like the branches of a willow tree, slender, pale, and beautiful. If they had been Muggles, they could have been hand and foot models.). Having asked his father about whether or not boys ever liked boys, Lucius had answered a lot like Vernon had, and Draco had been made to understand the need for children, so as to continue the Malfoy line. While he had many cousins, Lucius assured Draco that none of them was his equal, and the need for descendants from their particular branch of the family tree was of the utmost importance.

So Draco learned to rid himself of troubling thoughts of the beautiful boy next door from the Malfoy's townhouse in London. Feeling a sense of duty, he'd promised his father that he would pay attention to that Parkinson girl, named Rose, or Ivy, or something similarly botanical.

That all changed when he was being fitted for his Hogwarts uniform in the robe shop, and saw the boy with the glowing green eyes. A tremulous, fiery feeling had run down his body, while a shiver ran up his spine. This all combined to make Draco feel very confused, so he did his best to cover it up by trying to make friends with the boy. Unfortunately he hadn't reacted quite like Draco wished. Instead of being flattered that Draco wanted to talk to him (even though he was sure that the boy hadn't changed his shirt in years), he had seemed almost annoyed, and certainly _not _admiring.

__

It doesn't matter. He's just a poor little peasant, thought Draco, and put it from his mind. Or at least tried to. But more often than not, Draco found his thoughts returning to the scruffy young man from the robe shop all summer long. And what made things even worse were that the Boy Without a Decent Haircut, as Draco had come to call him, turned out to be the Boy Who Lived. Not only that, but he had spurned Draco's company for that . . . Weasley boy. Lucius Malfoy had had certain things to say about the Weasleys, and pleasant, charming, and remarkably good company, had definitely not been among them.

So now Draco had a dilemma. On the one side was the need for a Malfoy heir, but on the other side were Harry's leaf-green eyes that made Draco's hands tremble whenever he saw them. On one side was the fact that he was _Harry Potter, _Voldemort's (and therefore Lucius') greatest nemesis, but on the other was Harry's deliciously creamy skin, topped by blue-black hair that hung _just so_ on his forehead in a way that made Draco's perfect toes curl. What was he to do? 

The natural product of this dilemma was that the two young men were very much dreading their next year at school. They knew that it would be much harder to be around each other without feeling some kind of tension (sexual or otherwise), but they also knew that when this year was over, they would be that much closer to their final parting. So it was with heavy hearts that the two stepped onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

Harry grinned with delight and almost forgot his troubles when he saw his best friends, Ron and Hermione chatting with Mrs. Weasley and her daughter Ginny. Walking over to where they were talking, he noticed how close Ron and Hermione were standing, and how they kept 'accidentally' touching, whereupon they would both blush and jerk away. Harry watched all this with great interest, and visions of bushy haired redheads danced through his mind.

"Hi Harry," Hermione called, waving.

"Hey guys."

"Hi Harry," Ginny said, blushing slightly.

__

Poor Ginny thought Harry, _If only she would realize there was no hope. _But Ginny remained naïve, and continued to have her silly little crush on him. However, it had come to Harry's attention that Colin Creevey always stammered around her, and couldn't seem to stop smiling when they spoke. Harry foresaw great things for those two.

They boarded the train, catching up with each other, and sharing anecdotes from their summers. Harry regaled them with tales of sixteen-year-old Dudley's attempts at blind dates, which usually began (and simultaneously ended) with the poor girls eyes widening with shock and horror as Dudley tried to get out of the door without breaking the frame (again). Soon they were all rolling on the floor with laughter, and Harry, full of confidence; decided this was the time to let them in on his secret.

"Ron, Hermione, I have something important to tell you."

"What is it?" asked Hermione, looking worried, "Does your scar hurt?"

"N-no, I – um – I want to come out of the closet."

Hermione gasped while Ron just looked confused.

"What're you doing in a closet?"

Sighing, Hermione whispered something in his ear. A look of sudden understanding crossed his face, followed by, strangely enough, relief.

"Oh!" he said cheerfully, "No offense Harry, but I've known that for a long time."

"You have?"

With an embarrassed chuckle, he said, "Harry, I – er, you talk in your sleep sometimes."

Harry looked aghast and covered his mouth with his hands in horror. "I do?"

"Yes, you'd already made things quite clear."

Recalling some of the dreams he'd had over the years, Harry turned bright red and looked at his feet.

"I – I didn't mention any names, did I?"

"No, no! Nothing like that. You were, uh . . ." now it was Ron's turn to go scarlet (in the midst of all this confusion, Harry suddenly realized that there'd been an awful lot of blushing going on, but as his face was still vivid crimson, he didn't think this was the best time to mention it.) "calling out instructions."

There were a few moments of silence, then Ron stood up and said, "Enough. Thanks for telling us Harry, we appreciate it."

Secretly Ron was thinking about how wonderful it was that he and Harry would no longer be vying for Hermione's affections. However rather than choosing to give voice to these thoughts, he started a conversation about Fred and George's new joke shop in Hogsmeade in an effort to lighten the mood.

When Draco entered Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, he felt a thrill go through him at his first sight of Harry. To cover these confusing thoughts, he snapped his magnificent fingers, and called to the porter to bring him his luggage. Spying his friends Vincent and Gregory, he hurried over to greet them in his slow, drawling voice, the one that positively oozed blue blood. 

They got on the train, and within five minutes, Crabbe and Goyle had already gotten into a rather violent 'discussion' over which of them was the handsomest, which ended, as most of their discussions did, with Crabbe holding Goyle on the floor and shouting, "Say uncle!" Draco looked on with faint amusement and wondered what Harry and his friends were doing. 

* * *

Harry and his friends clapped loudly as the newest Gryffindor sat down at their table between Seamus and Dean, who grinned wickedly down at him. Sneaking a look over at Ron and Hermione, Harry felt a bubble of joy slide up his throat. _I can't believe they took it so well! I don't have to worry anymore! _He felt like shouting with happiness, but as Dumbledore was still in the middle of his annual speech, he didn't think it would be appreciated. So he contented himself with beaming all over the place and scaring the poor new Gryffindors even more than Dean and Seamus had. 

Draco glanced at Harry, who for some reason was grinning like a madman. A shock of tenderness filled his throat, and his eyes became suspiciously damp. _It's moments like these, _he thought with a sigh, _that make me feel so confused. _He massaged his temples and stared up at the black ceiling dotted with stars, like pearls on velvet. _What am I going to _do_, _thought Draco, shaking his head, _ Oh god, what am I going to do?_

As soon as the feast was over, everybody began heading for his or her respective beds. Harry felt like dancing and practically leapt towards the doors, where the mass of people leaving conveniently crushed him against Draco's body. He felt his ecstacy slipping away as Draco's warmth pervaded his body. Draco carefully ignored him, and he slid deeper and deeper into depression. _So close and yet so far, _he thought with a sigh, _it doesn't matter if Ron and Hermione accept me or not, as long as Draco doesn't. I wish . . . I wish the Sorting Hat _had _put me in Slytherin! Maybe Draco and I would have at least been friends then. I think I could stand it if we were at least friends. _His feet, previously so light, felt like blocks of lead as he trudged his way up the stairs to the Gryffindor tower.

A/N Well, now you see what to much Comedy Central will do to you. Actually I've just been drooling over the guy in that computer commercial. You know the one where he's making a video and holding up all these signs? (He's so pretty!) Anyway, poor Draco and Harry. What'll I do to them next?


	2. The way his toes curled when i . . . uh ...

Ritual Disclaimer: This belongs to Joanne Katherine Rowling, otherwise known as Supreme Author of All, who is my personal close friend (I'm not lying, really I'm not

Ritual Disclaimer: This belongs to Joanne Katherine Rowling, otherwise known as Supreme Author of All, who is my personal close friend (I'm not lying, really I'm not!).

Ritual Warning: As I said in the summary, this is SLASH. That means two boys who are 'special friends' in a non- platonic way. All homophobics, whether they realize it or not shall run away. But if you must flame, please do it w/o cursing me, questioning my sexuality, or writing 'U' and 'R' instead of 'you' and 'are'. Thanks

Not So Ritual Congratulations: To my dear friend KT, who swore she would never read Harry Potter and is now just as obsessed with it as I am (I win!).

A few weeks later, poor Harry's situation hadn't gotten any better. The only thing that had changed was . . . oh wait, nothing _had_ changed. He still stared at the back of Draco's head in Potions trying to memorize the way the light reflected off every single hair. He still found little insinuations in Draco's speech that proved that Draco loved/hated/obsessed over him just as much he did. Unfortunately, no matter how convinced Harry was that Draco really _did _love him, he never had any concrete evidence and soon plunged into the depths of despair, a situation that made for more than a few frustrating nights. He couldn't even talk to Ron and Hermione about it, as he suspected that while they might accept his budding homosexuality, the fact that it was aimed toward Draco would inspire more than a few raised eyebrows from his best friends. _Probably I'll be able to tell them some day, _he thought as he went down to breakfast after a _very _trying night filled with dreams in which Draco was the main character, _but right now I think I'd better let them get used to me. I mean it's not that they're not supportive or something, it's just I get the feeling they think I'm after anything in pants._

In fact, Harry was entirely right. It had been quite obvious to Ron beforehand that Harry had slightly different 'tastes' than his own. The only problem was that Harry was still quite obviously hiding something. After all, when Ron had told him about overhearing his dreams, Harry had very quickly asked if he'd mentioned any names in his throes of passion. It took him about a day or two (for he was not quite Hermione's equivalent when it came to puzzles and secrets) to realize that that meant Harry's homosexuality was not just in general but was actually aimed toward a certain person. In other words Harry had a crush. Ron was (surprise, surprise) rather conceited and his remarkably large ego immediately pounced on that thought and proceeded to gnaw on it awhile, until finally he was convinced that Harry's amorous feelings were directed towards none other than himself.

This presented a dilemma for Ron because he was most definitely straight. Not only that, but his attentions were quite focused on making a certain bushy-haired, (formerly) buck-toothed, insufferable know-it-all look at him in a way that was slightly more than platonic. He was coming closer and closer to this goal, and he did not want to threaten its final realization by dividing his efforts between pulling Hermione into his arms and pushing Harry out of them.

So he pretended to sleep as Harry got dressed, obviously contemplating something (_probably me, _thought Ron wryly). Harry cast a glance at Ron, which he saw through half-closed eyelids, and Ron was certain there was lust in his gaze. Finally to his infinite relief Harry left the room, books in hand, and Ron was able to take his shower without worrying about unexpected visitors.

Draco's chest (and pants) tightened as Harry stepped into the Great Hall. To his surprise, Harry wasn't with that Weasley child, his red headed shadow, but was in fact quite alone. He held up his hand and gazed at Harry under the guise of examining his left pinky, which was looking a little crooked lately. "Hmmm," he muttered, twisting his fingers around, now completely distracted from Ron's mysterious absence as he watched the light catch his almost perfect manicure. Suddenly a peal of laughter from a certain table distracted him from the fact that (horror of horrors!) there was a chip in his left hand's middle fingernail.

He dropped all pretense and stared at Harry, who had stolen something from Hermione and was trying his best to keep it from her grasp. Unfortunately it wasn't quite working, as Hermione had had a growth spurt, and was now almost half a head taller than he was. Draco carefully crossed his legs, as his interest in the comings and goings of a certain Gryiffindor grew more and more obvious. Finally, fearing that his trousers couldn't bear the strain any longer, he decided to take a trip to one of the more private bathrooms, and ease his frustration.

When Draco returned, feeling much more comfortable, if not fully satisfied, he discovered that the flock of owls had come flapping in, and his huge silky black eagle owl (specially tailored to his every wish, complete with the initials D.M. growing in gold feathers in its tail) had landed on his goblet, knocked it over, and spilled orange juice all over his Charms homework. _Stupid bird, _he thought, mock-angrily, as Salazar nuzzled his finger charmingly, and dropped the letter in his scrambled eggs.

__

Oh goody, thought Draco (although phrases like 'goody,' and 'golly-gee,' were among some of Draco's favorite colloquialisms, he always made sure that no one ever heard him say them. After all who would respect a Death Eater, or anyone else for that matter, who said 'Yippee-Skippee' whenever he was mildly excited?), _news from home._

He tore open the envelope (_half a page this time, they must really miss me!_) and read the note avidly. His mother had written to say she had a slight head-cold, his father's friend from work, who was conveniently young and beautiful, needed a place to stay, and was currently sleeping in the guest bedroom closest to Lucius' room (_Poor Mother, _thought Draco, _She's so naïve. 'Friend from work' indeed._), and that she was pregnant.

"What?!" he cried in shock.

"What is it?" Pansy asked with a rabid curiosity that bordered on obsession, "Tell me!" Draco stared at her dilated pupils, her flushed cheeks, and the thin line of foam that coated her lower lip, and shuddered.

"Oh, er . . . it's nothing," he said, gently removing her hand from between his legs, "just nothing."

He read the line again. _Mother? Pregnant? How did she manage to distract Father from all his 'therapeutical massages?.' _Then he grinned. _ I'm going to have a younger brother or sister! Hurray!_

Having finally returned Hermione's Arithmancy book (925 pages and that was just the first chapter.), Harry sat down to devour his favorite breakfast of spinach-tomato salad covered with ketchup. _I don't understand why everyone always winces when I make this,_ he thought, swallowing his delicious concoction. As he was thus occupied, he failed to notice that Draco Malfoy had gotten up, until he felt the delicate fabric of the Hogwarts uniform brushing his arm. He looked up curiously, and his green eyes met a pair of pale-grey ones. Draco stared down at him, confusion warring with frustration warring with desire on his delicate features, and Harry became painfully aware that his cheeks were slightly bulging from a rather large bite of his beloved mixture. Blushing, he swallowed, and Draco made a little noise like a whimper and fled away, a dazed look covering his face.

"What was that all about?" asked Hermione, looking at him oddly. Luckily for Harry, just as he was trying to think of a believable answer, Ron walked in. Hermione's face turned bright red, and she started twisting her hands nervously, Harry's association with Draco completely forgotten for more pressing matters, like how her hair looked. Harry silently thanked whichever god was looking out for him for the fact that Hermione's thought processes completely shut down whenever Ron was within the general vicinity.

After six minutes of his two best friend's mind-numbing flirtations, Harry thought his head would explode. Luckily the bell rang, and he was able to escape with his skull intact. He practically flew out the door of the Great Hall so as to avoid a repeat of the Sorting fiasco with Draco. Rushing to Divinations meant he had to deal with an extra five minutes of Professor Trelawny describing every gory detail of his incipient death, but compared to the agony he felt when he was near Draco, or the nausea he felt when Ron and Hermione played their little 'games,' it was well worth it. He climbed up to the tower and immediately the smell of cheap incense and potpourri seemed to whack him in the nose. Gasping for air by a window, he failed to see Trewlany until she'd rested one bony hand on his shoulders. He yelped and spun around, one hand immediately going to his pocket for his wand.

"Harry . . ." she said mistily, "I sense that you are troubled . . ."

"What tipped you off?" he rolled his eyes in disdain.

"Laugh if you must, but I have felt the pangs of unrequited love myself."

__

Obviously. As if anyone could love the old bat. But despite himself he looked up at her curiously.

"He was a Muggle, and I loved everything about him . . . his hair, his eyes, the way his toes crinkled whenever I . . . uh . . ." she broke off quickly, face going pink, "but one day I was doing his star-chart, and I foresaw that he would die if I stayed with him. I couldn't bear it. I performed a Memory Charm on him and fled into the night. Two months later I met him again at a party. He was . . . engaged."

Harry gazed up at her with new respect. He opened his mouth to say something, when the first of the Gryffindors came crashing up the ladder. Suddenly Professor went back to being misty and said, "then your legs will be eaten . . ." she looked at him pleadingly, and Harry understood.

"Whatever," he said and winked at Ron.

* * * 

That little discussion was the beginning of a newfound friendship between Harry and Professor Trewlany, or Sybill as he had come to call her. Seven out of ten evenings, Harry could be found in one of the fat armchairs in her classroom, discussing something important (usually Draco-related) with her over a cup of tea. The best thing about this relationship was that Sybill seemed completely unflustered by the fact that Harry was pining over a boy, and specifically Draco. Of course the only problem was that she continued to press him into making a move.

"Listen Harry," she would say, looking down at him from her long nose, "Draco will respond admirably to your attentions. I have him for Divinations too you know, and whenever I mention you his face goes through the most amusing expressions . . . " she broke off, chuckling a little.

And as the seasons passed, and autumn gave way to winter, Harry felt his resolve weakening. Sybill's urgings, combined with his own gave him new courage, and Harry began planning his move with a strategic mind normally attributed to major generals on the warpath.

A/N Sorry this one took so long. I got distracted by homework, my birthday (presents will be accepted of course, not that I'm greedy), the fact that I finally have a life (I know, I know, shocked me too), and random other things (stupid Bio teacher). Anyway feedback will definitely be accepted. All hail the computer guy! Adios!


	3. Against all odds, Draco seemed to have b...

Harry Potter, aged nine, was in his cupboard, doing homework when Uncle Vernon snatched open the door, almost ripping it off its hinges

Ritual Disclaimer: This belongs to Joanne Katherine Rowling, otherwise known as Supreme Author of All, who is my personal close friend (I'm not lying, really I'm not!).

Ritual Warning: As I said in the summary, this is SLASH. Two boys who are 'special friends' in a non- platonic way. All homophobics, whether they realize it or not shall run away. But if you must flame, please do it w/o cursing me, questioning my sexuality, or writing 'U' and 'R' instead of 'you' and 'are'. Thanks

Quickly Becoming More Ritualistic Congratulations: To my dear friend Sarit, who I've known for ten years, who has just come to her senses and read the first Harry Potter book, and is looking forward to the other three. Two down, three to go.

By the time Christmas Break was upon them, Harry and Trelawny's weeks of careful planning had come to an end. Now all that remained was for Harry to set the whole thing in motion and deliver the hopefully unforgettable words into Draco's delicate, shell-like ear. Easier said than done. No matter what Sybill said, no matter how many times she assured him of Draco's unfailing love (or at least lust), all Harry could see was the tow-headed boy reading aloud from Rita Skeeter's various articles about his tear-filled eyes. 

Finally it was Christmas Eve. Like every year, Draco had returned home for the holidays, and to Harry, each day without him nearby seemed like a week—which, when all was said and done, added up to an inconceivably large amount of time. He ate his Christmas feast with Ron and Hermione, pulled poppers with Ginny and Colin (who now seemed to pay him a lot less attention then they used too.), and generally tried to give an air of festive- Christmas-party-type-happiness. It failed miserably. All evening it seemed like the entire Gryffindor House, (or at least what remained of it) was asking him if he was all right. Eventually, he became so frustrated that he seriously contemplated using Avada Kedavra on the lot of them. It was about this time that he realized just how tired and unhappy he really was, and decided to go to bed. The only thing even mildly good about the day was the rather large pile of shiny parcels at the foot of his bed, each bearing a small tag that warned him not to open until 'X-mas'. He made sure to follow this rule, considering what had happened to that poor second-year when he'd opened his. _It's all right, _he thought, _I'm sure John's eyebrows'll grow back eventually. _

With this comforting thought, he slipped on his pajamas, curled onto his bed, and pulled the curtains tightly around him. 

Draco was also spending his Christmas eve at a party, as the ever-popular Malfoys were wont to do, however he seemed to be enjoying it even less than Harry was enjoying his, impossible as this may sound. Like Harry, he fervently wished he were anywhere else (preferably the aforementioned boy, but he'd take what he could get). The only way he could possibly percieve to get out of this was to drink as much eggnog as possible and get good and drunk. Unfortunately after getting a napkin and pen and figuring out exactly how many cups it would take, all he had to look forward to was a long and eggnoggy night. He sighed, wishing for something, anything, to relieve the tedium. Just then his eyes met Pansy's across the room, and she blushed trying desperately to hide the steaming cup in one hand and the mistletoein the other. Draco winced, anticipating yet another one of Pansy's 'delightful' antics. And he was not dissapointed, for the pug-faced girl poured the whatever-it-was into a party cup, slipped the mistletoe into her pocket and came toward him, a charming (or at least that's what she meant it to be) smile on her face.

"Here Drakey honey, I got you a drink!"

He stared as a rather large bubble formed and popped. Steam wafted out of the cup forming little hearts around his head, smelling suspiciously like Calvin Klein's Obsession. Draco recognized a love potion when he saw one.

"Er . . . uh . . . no thanks Pansy, I'm, um, not very thirsty. Thanks," he pushed the cup back into her hand, and orchestrated a hasty retreat.

He spent the rest of the evening avoiding Pansy and the other debutantes who seemed to think he was some kind of demi-god, and striving harder and harder to reach his ultimate goal of unconscious drunkenness. As he was ducking into a bedroom to avoid a short blond with a suspiciously equine nose, he realized that (a) not one year ago he would have adored this, (b) the cause of his loss of adoration was none other than the previously mentioned Potter boy, and (c) he missed said Potter boy so much that it hurt. He sat down on the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands. 

* * *

Ron watched suspiciously from his clever hiding space (under the bed) as Harry put on a dash of the cologne Hermione had bought for him. Harry hummed a lilting tune, checked the mirror to see if his hair was at least pretending to behave, and walked out of the room, skipping all the way. Ron waited a few more minutes, then, satisfied that Harry was not going to return, breathed a sigh of relief and went to take his first shower of the month. His plan to cure Harry of his ridiculous obsession seemed to be working as he hadn't made any unwelcome advances yet, however it was also putting a damper on his blossoming relationship with Hermione, a fact which irked him every night.

__

Harry glanced behind him to see if Ron was following him again, or if he was still 'hiding' under the bed. As he climbed the steps to the Divinations classroom, he shook his head at Ron's foolishness. It had become quite obvious to him that Ron had developed something of a crush directed towards young Harry, which was strange, as Harry had thought that Ron was straight as a ruler. Not that Harry minded, exactly. He had found over the years that it was always nice to have someone who liked him, even if that someone was his best friend, and the thought of dating him was almost as bad as dating his cousin Dudley (almost being the operative word there). Nor was it that he didn't find Ron attractive, as the red-headed boy was certainly handsome, with his strong jaw, flaming hair, and myriad freckles; however Harry had long since decided that Draco's delicate good looks far surpassed anything Ron had to offer. This was a problem, and Harry knew he had to find a way to nip Ron's silly infatuation in the bud, or else the poor boy would be crushed when Harry finally got up the courage to talk to Draco.

That night, eating dinner in the Great Hall, Harry found his eyes drawn to the Slytherin table where Draco was eating, having finally returned from his vacation. It had taken all the will-power Harry posessed to not go meet the blond when the train came in, and now, to not rush up to the boy and kiss him. His stomach was filled with a going-over-the-first-drop-on-a-rollercoaster feeling, and his face was rather sore, as he kept on missing his mouth and stabbing himself in the cheek with his fork. 

Finally Draco left the room, and Harry was able to eat without fear of accidentally putting his eye out. He began wolfing down his dinner, then ran into the hall, took out his wand and performed the Searching Spell. The wand spun on his hand and pointed in the direction Draco had gone. Harry pulled up his robes to climb the stairs in a manner reminiscent of Scarlett O'Hara, and followed the point of his wand hastily. Finally Harry reached a dead end. Lost as to what to do, he stared at his wand, which was pointing straight up. Suddenly he realized where he was, and just as he was wondering at the significance, the ladder to the Divinations classroom came down. Harry carefully climbed up the ladder, and tried hard to see through the haze of incense and smoke that choked the room. Finally, through watering eyes he was able to see Professor Trewlany, and her dark shadow next to her.

"Sybil," he coughed, "What's going on? I was looking for Draco and –"

The shadow moved, stepping forward, revealing delicate fingers, a pale wrist criss-crossed with blue veins, and finally Draco's grey eyes, and white-blond hair. Harry choked. Professor Trewlany, a huge grin splitting her face, looked from Harry to Draco and back again, drinking in the dazed looks on their faces.

"I think," she said, dropping the ladder and climbing down, "that that is my cue to exit."

Harry barely registered the click of the door locking, his eyes still locked on Draco's similarly stunned face.

"Dra—Mal—Dra—uh . . ."

Against all odds Draco seemed to have been won over by this stunning display of articulacy, because he seemed to be waiting for Harry to finish.

"Uh . . . I . . . uh . . . well . . . um . . . are you . . . see I . . . Draco, I kind of, sort of, maybe have this little insignificant thing for you," he looked up at the taller boy through his eyelashes. Draco just looked shocked. Then Harry spoke again, words spilling out as his heart plummeted through the floor and landed in Hermione's plate, metaphorically speaking of course (_that _could have been the source of some interesting dinner conversations), "I'm sorry," he whispered through the growing lump in his throat, "I'll – go. Sorry. Forget it."

The sight of Harry's retreating figure seemed to return a modicum of intelligence to Draco, and he called out, "Stop!"

Harry turned around, hope in his eyes, and Draco spoke again. 

"Harry – I – I like you too. Er . . . that way I mean," he blushed.

Harry grinned, joy lighting up his green eyes in such a way that Draco had trouble breathing.

"Well . . . then . . ." he said, trying to speak, "I guess that's that then."

"Yeah . . ." said Harry, "um . . ."

Then a huge grin spread across Draco's face, and he leaned forward and kissed Harry, forgetting about his Father, Pansy, his Father's various 'special friends', and all of the other numerous things that complicated his daily life. Life, it seemed, had taken a turn for the better.

A/N Well this certainly took a while. I'm really sorry too. First I had all these tests, then I had finals to worry about, and then finally, when I was looking forward to a nice big helping of summer, where I would have ages of free time to write this thing, I ran into the biggest lump of writer's block I've ever experienced. It was crippling. I was not a happy camper for a rather long time. But then (miracle of miracles) I healed! And I finished writing! And it turned out . . . well . . . I guess I'll let you decide. 


	4. Apparently it was quite hard to track an...

Ritual Disclaimer: This belongs to Joanne Katherine Rowling, otherwise known as Supreme Author of All, who is my personal close friend (I'm not lying, really I'm not

Ritual Disclaimer: This belongs to Joanne Katherine Rowling, otherwise known as Supreme Author of All, who is my personal close friend (I'm not lying, really I'm not!). 

Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus belongs to John Gray, and may G-d have mercy on his soul.

Ritual Warning: As I said in the summary, this is SLASH. Two boys who are 'special friends' in a non- platonic way. All homophobics, whether they realize it or not shall run away. Shoo! But if you must flame, please do it w/o cursing me, questioning my sexuality, or writing 'U' and 'R' instead of 'you' and 'are'. Thanks

As-Close-to-Ritualistic-as-I-Can-Get-Before-Jinxing-My-Good-Luck Congratulations: To my dear friend Michael who I've known for twelve years who has finally read all four books and was thoroughly put out when I told him the fifth book wasn't coming out for another year

Hermione was a tad confused. For the past week or so, Harry had been in a much better mood than he had all year. He had posed for pictures with Colin Creevey. He had whistled as Snape removed points when he sneezed. He had even gone along with Rita Skeeter's frequent requests for an interview (apparently her little vacation with Hermione hadn't quite curbed her appetite for yellow journalism, although she had developed an amusing little twitch which manifested itself whenever she saw either a jar, or else a set of rather large teeth). Harry's behavior, while pleasing was a little off in Hermione's opinion. It was the first time in all their days at Hogwarts that Voldemort seemed to be taking some time off, but did that really account for Harry's frantic happiness?

Another part of the puzzle was that every night at exactly nine-thirty-seven, Harry would get up from whatever it was he was doing, go upstairs, return with his invisibility cloak under one arm, and, when he thought no one was looking, leave the common room, humming happily all the way. Five minutes later, Ron would look around and surreptitiously (at least that's what he thought) also leave the room, going in the same direction as Harry had.

Hermione thought about this little enigma very carefully. She observed it from every angle. She spent hours in the library looking up books with titles like, _Understanding Male Behavior, _and one very strange book called, _Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus, _which had sounded rather magical and interesting, but had in fact been slightly annoying. She even drew complicated diagrams to help her in the process. However, no matter how many times she looked at it, she kept on coming back to the same conclusion. Harry and Ron were best friends the way 'Snuffles' and Proffesor Lupin were. 

Hermione was crushed. Completely distraught. What was she to do? Her Ron, her only love, was . . . gay? It hadn't mattered to her so much when it was Harry, after all Harry fit the stereotype. Slender, sensitive, polite, and neat, the boy had even been immune to the charms of Fleur, and she was a quarter veela for G-d's sake! But Ron? Ron had been lusting after anything in a skirt for the past two years. At least she thought he had. It certainly seemed like he had. Perhaps it had all been a cover. But that didn't make sense, after all, Ron was about as subtle as a brick wall.

So all in all, Hermione was thoroughly confused. 

__

There's only one thing to do, she told herself, _I'll have to start following them._

The next night, Harry was rather annoyed to find himself followed by not only Ron, but Hermione as well, and she was infinitely harder to shake off. He quickly rounded a corner, and half-ran down the hall, wondering, not for the first time, how they were able to track him in his previously impenatrable Cloak. Just he was narrowly avoiding a certain suit of armor that sang loudly and quite off-key whenever it 'saw' anything resembling anything like an audience, he suddenly found himself rather closer to the ground than he had been earlier, and looking directly up at a bemused Dumbledore. 

"Hello Mr. Potter," he said, reaching down to help Harry up off the ground, "as I told you in your first year, it's strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you."

"Er – yes – sorry sir."

"Well, where are you off too in such a hurry tonight?"

"Um . . . uh . . . to . . ." Harry stammered desperately, there was no way he could tell the Headmaster that he was going to go make out with Draco Malfoy, (although the thought of Dumbledore's reaction _was _mildly amusing), but lying to Dumbledore was like lying to a wide-eyed two-year-old. It was just despicable.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Well Mr. Potter, I will have to advise you to remember to keep your little escapades to a bare minimum. If you run back to your tower now, I will pretend this never happened."

Harry winced as he thought of Draco sitting all alone in that empty common room, slowly growing angrier and angrier and . . . "Er . . . Headmaster, see, I'm supposed too – "

Dumbledore interrupted him, eyes twinkling, "Oh, I just remembered, I need to have a talk with Mr. Malfoy about the upcoming Easter vacation. I don't suppose you'd want him to know you were here, would you?"

Harry choked. Dumbledore couldn't possibly know anything . . . could he? He felt a hand pounding his back, and looked up to see Dumbledore grinning down at him.

"I didn't think so. Well, I'm off! Ta-ta!"

And the Headmaster of the greatest wizarding school in European history skipped out of sight, singing 'I'm a little teapot' – with the hand gestures.

* * * 

__

A week later, Ron looked at Harry suspiciously. Trailing the other boy had not been working out the way he'd hoped. Apparently it was quite hard to track an invisible boy, no matter how many times you've bribed Peeves into helping you. Also, Hermione had been giving him odd looks for a while now, and once when he and Harry had been doing homework in the library and she'd walked in on them, she blushed, apologized for interrupting, and ran out hastily. This was not at all like the Hermione he knew and loved. _Girls_, he thought, shaking his head.

Harry stood up, stretched, and set down his quill. "Wanna go for a walk?" he asked, yawning, "I'm getting tired of thinking up new ways to get disemboweled."

Ron gave him a skeptical look. _C'mon Harry, how stupid do you think I am? Sure at first it's an innocent walk, but before I know it you'll be all over me like butter on bread. _He snickered to himself.

Harry stared down at Ron. The redhead had been acting strangely for a while now, but he seemed to have gone from simple weirdness to out and out insanity. After his perfectly sane and simple offer, Ron had suddenly started giggling to himself like a maniac. Harry took a slow step backwards, then another. He thought it had been a perfectly ingenious concept. He and Ron would go for a walk. He would say, quite nicely, that while they would always have something special, their friendship would never be anything other than platonic. Ron would weep uncontrollably, and Harry would comfort him, reminding him of Hermione's affections. Ron would then realize that he was perfectly straight, and had been swayed by Harry's infectious charm, magnificent good looks, and glorious flying skills. Ron would of course be perfectly accepting of Harry's relationship with Draco, and Voldemort, swayed by Harry's sincerity and kindness toward his fellow man would surrender himself to the Dementor's Kiss, while 

Draco, appeared, dressed in nothing but a red and gold thong . . . 

Madam Pince shook her head, and walked over to the two boys, both lost in their fantasy worlds. Sighing, she grabbed Harry by the shoulders and shook him ferociously, then she did the same to Ron.

"Listen you two!" she shouted as they wandered around, looking dazed and confused, "You've got to stop doing that! That's the third time this week!"

"Sorry Madam Pince," they murmered apologetically, looking down at their shoes.

"Well don't let it happen again," she said sternly and stalked away.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, blushed, and decided to maybe forgo the walk for another time.

* * *

Draco was incredibly, horribly bored. There was absolutely _nothing _to do. He was so bored that he decided to make a list of options, to ease his lethargy. Rummaging through his trunk, he tossed aside various knick–knacks (hand-cuffs, a leather studded whip, a red and gold thong . . . _how odd, _he thought, _I don't remember buying _that _particular article of clothing in Hogsmeade_). Finally he found a scrap of parchment and his favorite quill and settled down to write his list.

__
  1. Make Crabbe and Goyle get into a fight
  2. Tease Pansy
  3. See if Harry is interested in trying on that new thong I found
  4. Go to the library and read that book about famous Slytherins and their 'domestic partners'
  5. Write a letter to Father

Draco dipped his quill into his inkwell, and wrote the cons next to each article on the parchment.

_

  1. Last time Crabbe and Goyle got into a wrestling match they ended up losing most of their clothing and 

_no one _wants to see that. Then they disappeared into the dorm room, and didn't come out until dinner. wants to see that. Then they disappeared into the dorm room, and didn't come out until dinner. Yuck. 
* Whenever I tease Pansy, she thinks I'm flirting
* If he's not with Granger and the Weasel
* I think Goyle already checked it out
* Sure – I can just see how that would go:
_

Dear Father,

So you wanted to hear my news? Let's see, do you remember Harry Potter? You know the boy you're sworn to capture and bring to the Dark Lord? Yeah, well anyway, the other day, as we were making out . . .

Draco shuddered as he imagined his father's reaction. No, that was _not _a good idea. Not a good idea at all. Sighing a little, he got up to see what Harry was doing. Maybe he _could _convince the other boy to where the thong, and maybe even the handcuffs too . . .

Pansy watched suspiciously as Draco left the common room, one hand in his pocket, which was jingling oddly. Lately the blond had been leaving at odd times of the night, and returning with a heart-stopping smile on his face as opposed to his customary smirk. This could mean one thing, and one thing only: her Draco, her sweet, innocent Draco was cheating on her! This had to be stopped. But how . . . ?

A/N: Yay! The Dell computer guy has a new commercial! *sigh* okay, I'm done. Anyway, ffn.net is STILL down, so if this takes a while, blame xing, not me. Also, my friend and beta-reader, Icefox (who currently has a WIP) helped me figure out an ending, so as of now, this story actually has a purpose! Hurray! Oh, and my 'wonderful' (yeah, sure) father decided to review all my stories under MY pen name, so no, I'm not promoting my own work, it's the man from whom I unfortunately got half my DNA.


	5. Pansy thought very hard, until she remem...

Ritual Disclaimer: This belongs to Joanne Katherine Rowling, otherwise known as Supreme Author of All, who is my personal close friend (I'm not lying, really I'm not!).  
  
Ritual Warning: As I said in the summary, this is SLASH. Two boys who are 'special friends' in a non- platonic way. All homophobics, whether they realize it or not, shall run away. Shoo! But if you must flame, please do it w/o cursing me, questioning my sexuality, or writing 'U' and 'R' instead of 'you' and 'are'. Thanks.  
  
Ritualistic Congratulations (To heck with that silly preface thingy. I'm feeling lazy today): Briana, and Erica have both read the first book, and are eagerly awaiting the second (they have to borrow them). Chrissy has read all of them. And guess whose English teacher has two (TWO!) Harry Potter posters in her room, the Vanity Fair magazine with pictures from the movie, an article from the paper, and a Golden Snitch key-chain! Go on, guess!  
  
Draco was becoming quite frustrated. For the last week or so, whenever he and Harry tried to have one of their secret rendezvous, something would prevent them for meeting. And that something usually had either:  
  
Big hair and an obsession with the library (what exactly was she doing in there?),  
  
Or  
  
More freckles than everyone on Earth combined,  
  
Or  
  
Suspiciously stalker-esque behavior - especially where he was concerned.  
  
Their three pursuers had been mildly amusing at first. In fact, both he and Harry had made a kind of game of thinking of new ways to dissuade their unwanted shadows. However, after a few days in which he and Harry were only able to send each other a few heated glances, Draco had quickly gotten over his amusement. Worse yet, Pansy seemed to think he was seeing another girl, and had almost given a poor Ravenclaw in Draco's Arithmancy class a broken nose. This, he decided, was not the way to lead a happy, healthy, and (relatively) normal sex-life. Something had to be done. And he knew just what to do: kill her.  
  
No! he thought, I really can't, no matter how appealing that sounds I can not kill Pansy Parkinson. But then, what can I do?  
  
He began pacing, crossing the small dorm room in only a few steps, and chewing his lip in a way that Harry found quite appealing - NO! I can't kill Pansy, and I can't think about Harry ANYMORE, he told himself angrily. But what can I do . . .?  
  
Pansy stared at herself in the mirror, and added yet another coat of pink lipstick. Her latest scheme to win Draco's affections was just about ready. All she needed now was that halter-top that her father had forbidden her to wear . . .  
  
Ah! There it was, under her bed next to the latest issue of Playwitch magazine. She tied it on, and gave her reflection a final pink grin. Perfect. Now to find Draco . . . hmmm, he wasn't in the common room, although she had gotten an appreciative wolf-whistle from Zabini. Nor was he in his room! He must have slipped out to see his . . . his . . . floozy! Oh, that girl was going to get it . . . at least as soon as she found out who the little - no, swearing is un-ladylike - person - yes, much better - was.  
  
The previously enormous Gryffindor tower seemed to have shrunk down to the size of a Knut. Harry had explored every single square centimeter of the place, even the girl's dorms (which were not quite so interesting as he'd been told. According to Seamus, who claimed to visit the place every Tuesday, there was a mud-pit, leather bikinis, and anything else a healthy, heterosexual teenage boy could hope for strewn all over the place).  
  
His interest in the surroundings, especially the doors and windows had not escaped Ron's attentions, nor had Hermione missed the fact that Ron's head snapped up like a puppet's whenever Harry approached any kind of exit. All three of them were stewing with a mixture of frustration, confusion, and sexual tension. The atmosphere was so thick in the room that a third year almost choked, and had to be pounded on the back (perhaps more vigorously then was necessary) by Seamus and Dean.  
  
Harry was getting that seldom-acquired, but much dreaded Muggle disease known as Cabin Fever, and he was going to explode from the tension. All of a sudden, like a flash, he hit upon an idea.  
  
"Er - Ron . . . would you excuse me? I have to go to the bathroom," he said tentatively. He had tried this particular ploy before, but that had been during the early days of his imprisonment, and Ron was much more restless now than he had been.  
  
"Okay . . ." Ron was having an inner argument. On the one side there was the fact that Harry was almost certainly trying to escape his captivity, and if Ron let him go, the mystery of just what Harry was doing might never be solved. On the other hand one little five-minute trip couldn't hurt, especially if Ron put a Trailing charm on him. The poor kid's probably wants to languish over me in silence. It's really too bad I'm straight, I hate to see him look like this, but really! I don't like Harry that much. "Go ahead!" he said, and waved his wand in a clever ploy to set the charm without Harry knowing.  
  
As Harry enclosed himself within the silken confines of the Invisibility Cloak, he couldn't help but wonder exactly how Ron's fuzzy little mind worked. This was the perfect chance for Harry's secret to be revealed. But Harry's senses were dulled by the knowledge that within this very castle, Draco was waiting for him, handcuffs in one hand, whipped cream in the other. So off he went; completely unaware that at that moment, Ron, Hermione, and Pansy were headed the same exact way.  
  
***  
  
The way things are going, thought Hermione, I might as well get back with Viktor! Life with him was a lot less complicated, even if he did have an unnatural obsession for Crookshanks. She was currently racing as fast as she could after Eon, who had somehow managed to give her the slip. He'd claimed that he was just going out to get her some hot chocolate, but once the pheromones had cleared, Hermione had cursed her stupidity. It's not that I mind that he and Harry are . . . 'special' friends, it's just that I wish he'd seen fit to tell me! Heck - it might even be fun to watch! Suddenly she saw a shade of red never before seen in nature 0 that is until Bill Weasley was born - and hurried off in it's general direction.  
  
Chuckling to himself, Ron put away his wand and grinned at his phenomenal use of the Misdirection charm. With Hermione off my trail I'll really be able to make time. She's a nice girl, and normally I'd give anything to have her follow mea round like a mad dog in heat, but when she sees how much Harry loves me, she'll just die from jealousy. Suddenly he heard a high-pitched scream and gasped, "Hermione!"  
  
Almost dropping his wand, he rushed off to save her, mind full of the delicious rewards she'd give him for coming to her rescue, with Harry and his choice in life-partners delegated to the farthest corner of his mind.  
  
"He-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-lp!!!!!" Pansy cried as the 'poor Ravenclaw' that she'd tried to beat up earlier punched her in the stomach. "Dra-a-a-a-a-c-o-o-o-o- o! Save me!" she called. But Draco was nowhere to be found. Just as she was getting her eyeteeth removed with Dimitria (the Ravenclaw)'s fist, she heard a strange voice call, "I'm coming!" and with a mighty grunt, it's owner pulled the Ravenclaw off.  
  
"oh! Thank you!" Pansy said, doing her best to flutter her lashes through a rapidly forming black eye. "How can I ever repay you?" she asked, visions of muscle - bound Hufflepuffs (all brawn and no brains, just the way Pansy liked them) dancing through her head. Then she looked up so that her glorious savior could feel the full brunt of her magnificent (cough, cough) charms.  
  
"Weasley???" she cried, almost choking on her little finger, which she'd placed 'seductively' in her mouth.  
  
"P - Parkinson? I thought you were Hermione!" he screeched, backing away in horror.  
  
"That Mudblood? As if! I thought you were my sweet Draco ." Pansy became lost in thought as she thought about what exactly she'd do to her 'sweet Draco' when she caught him alone. Now where did I put those chains Millicent lent me . . .?  
  
Ron watched Pansy's eyes glaze over and knew if he didn't do something soon, she'd be lost in thought (or some facsimile thereof) for a very, very, very, long time, "Dr - Malfoy? Why would I be Malfoy? Is he missing too?"  
  
"What do you mean, 'too'?" Pansy knew she was missing something here, but she wasn't exactly known for her intelligence, so she just shook her head in confusion.  
  
Suddenly Dimitria, who had been slumped in a corner from where Ron had tossed her in a fit of fury put two and two together. "Idiots!" She cried, through a bruised jaw, "I can't believe you don't see it!"  
  
"See what?" they asked together.  
  
"I don't believe it!" Dimitria yelled, "You don't see it? I'll speak very slowly so you can get this through your thick skulls and I'll use small words so you'll be sure to understand. Harry . . . and . . . Draco . . . are . . . both . . . gone . . . at . . . the . . . same . . . time. They have been for a while. You've seen the looks they give each other during meals, right? You've seen Harry's notebooks, that say, 'I love D. M. all over them? You still don't get it? I mean, Gryffindors are known for their ability to NOT think at times, but Slytherin's supposed to be shrewd!"  
  
Pansy looked at Ron and mouthed, 'she's gone insane!' at him. Ron nodded in frightened agreement and reached for his wand.  
  
"Don't bother," said Dimitria in disgust, "I'm leaving. Honestly, I think my I.Q. is dropping 10 points for every second I'm here!" with a huff she left the corridor, leaving a very confused Ron and Pansy behind her.  
  
"Huh - well . . . that was different," Ron said, staring at the girl's retreating figure.  
  
"I'll say. And she treated us like idiots! What do you think she was talking about anyway?" Pansy thought very hard about this, until she remembered that thinking gave her wrinkles.  
  
"Damned if I know . . . anyway, you're waiting for Malfoy, right?" Ron had had an idea (which was like Dudley being nice to Harry), and was eager to start setting it into motion.  
  
"Yes! 'Cause he loves me! And we're getting married! It'll be wonderful!" she squealed.  
  
"Ri-i-i-ght ." he backed away, "well - I know he's been treating you pretty badly lately, and I really like Hermione - y'know - Granger? Anyway . . . I was thinking . . . I know, it shocked me too," the trouble with this statement, is that he wasn't joking, he really was shocked, "and I thought we could pretend to go out and that would make them both jealous!"  
  
And because Pansy had all the brains of a jar of mayonnaise, she thought this was a fantastic idea, and they immediately shook on it.  
  
A/N well! This certainly took awhile. Um - sorry - anyway, I just wanted to say I'm sorry if I offended any Hufflepuff fans with my thing about them being all brawn and no brains. That's just how Pansy thinks of them, not me. Anyway - um - in 21-and-a-half hours I'm going to see the Harry Potter movie! *Squeals* yay! La la la - I've been relatively distracted for a while . yay! 


	6. Don’t worry darling, you don’t swing tha...

Ritual Disclaimer: This belongs to Joanne Katherine Rowling, otherwise known as Supreme Author of All, who is my personal close friend (I'm not lying, really I'm not!). Ritual Warning: As I said in the summary, this is SLASH. Two boys who are 'special friends' in a non- platonic way. All homophobics, whether they realize it or not, shall run away. Shoo! But if you must flame, please do it w/o cursing me, questioning my sexuality, or writing 'U' and 'R' instead of 'you' and 'are'. Thanks. Ritualistic Congratulations: To my dear friend Stan, who has finally read Harry Potter, and although he denies that Draco and Harry would go well together, he does think that Snape is pretty damned cool.  
  
As Ron took Pansy's hand in his own, he tried to tell himself that no, it did not feel like tofu, and who cared if it did anyway? It wasn't her fault if she 'glowed' like a horse. And besides, it would be over soon. That, in fact was Ron's mantra as they walked towards the Great Hall, suffering the stares and whispers of their fellow pupils. He glanced down at Pansy's pug- like face, and shuddered. This was almost as bad as the time he'd had to throw up slugs. However Ron was not the only one enduring what was fast becoming dry heaves. While Pansy had to admit that Ron was a fine specimen of a man, with his thick arm muscles, and bright red hair (and you know what they say about tall men.) he wasn't Draco. And therefore not up to her phenomenally high standards. In Pansy's mind, the only human worth her attention was blond haired, gray eyed, and currently kissing Harry Potter like there was no tomorrow.  
  
Draco wrenched himself away from Harry's lips with an audible gasp. It struck him that if they were both late for breakfast, and then walked into the Great Hall, even the stupidest of Hufflepuffs might be able to put two and two together, and said as much to Harry. They grabbed their robes and checked them for any interesting stains, and when none were found (thank goodness, as that would have been hard to explain to the house-elves in charge of the laundry) they raced out of the room and down to breakfast. They were careening down a rather narrow hallway that forced those using it to walk in single file, when Draco suddenly stopped short, and Harry came crashing into him, so that they both fell down, with Harry on top. "Remind you of anything?" he asked mischievously, but rather then hitting him, like Draco always did when he said something remotely suggestive, Draco just turned even whiter (his complexion now resembled that of a sheet of paper) and pointed one trembling finger at Ron and Pansy who were staring slack- jawed at their disheveled friends. Suddenly light dawned, and Ron was filled with a terrible idea. "You two are.are.." And he fainted dead away. Pansy screamed as Ron's weight fell against her thigh. She had no idea what was going on (a rather unsurprising fact) but she had enough presence of mind to realize that this was a Very Big Deal. Harry had rushed over to where his best friend had fallen, and was slapping him about the face in the hopes of waking him up. While Ron's face was getting quite a bit pinker (so that it clashed horribly with his hair), he was stubbornly remaining in Dreamland, so Harry pulled out his vial of smelling salts (he'd started keeping them around after the third time he and Draco had made out, as he had discovered that kissing the spot between Draco's ear and neck made the other boy feel quite faint) and waved them under Ron's nose a few times. Ron made a face of pure disgust, sneezed violently three or four times, and sat up quickly, banging his head with Harry's. Rubbing his forehead, where a bruise was rapidly forming he stared in horror at Harry and Draco's clasped hands and cried, "You mean - the two of you are . are . but I thought - what about me?" And Ron broke into tears. Of course Harry was horrified - all his worst thoughts had proved to be true. He didn't know what to do . how could he explain to Ron that while he was very attractive in his own way, his freckles were rather . off? Luckily Draco, ever the Slytherin, and therefore inordinately clever, walked up to Ron, placed his hand on the redhead's shoulder and said, 'Don't worry darling, you don't swing that way, remember?' Ron's face brightened remarkably. 'Oh that's right!' he exclaimed, sitting up, 'I like girls! Duh!' Suddenly light dawned on Pansy. "You mean - the two of you are ." and she looked from Harry's face to Draco's a few times, "you're gay???" "Er ... well . yes," Draco said, rather shamefacedly, but secretly pleased. She was finally out of his hair! But not half a second later all of his hopes were dashed. "Why Draco, I've never heard of anything so . so . sexy!" she cried, clapping her hands together, "Draco dearest, considering all we've shared -" at that Draco muttered something under his breath that sounded particularly cruel, and Harry elbowed him in the stomach, "would you at least let me watch?"  
  
There were no words. Draco just shook his head, took Harry's hand, and walked away.  
  
Now, it must be known that at this point Hermione was rather confused. Her two best friends were late for breakfast by a full half hour, and considering that they were two healthy, relatively normal teenage boys, this was rather odd. As she looked around the Great Hall she realized that not only were Harry and Ron missing, but so were Draco and Pansy Parkinson. Now Pansy's absence could be explained by the fact that wherever Draco was, she was too, but then, where was Draco? All of a sudden the very subject of her thoughts entered the room with a look of confusion, amusement, and disgust decorating his delicate features. Just two steps behind him was Harry, with a similar expression. They appeared to be unaware of the fact that their sudden late appearance to breakfast together was the cause of many whispered conversations amongst their fellow students. They stopped short of Gryffindor table, and spoke quietly to one another, and then Draco walked on to his seat next to Zabini, while Harry moved towards Hermione. When he sat down she said harshly, 'where the heck is Ron?' 'Huh?' was Harry's witty response, as he reached for a piece of toast. 'You remember Ron. Red hair, freckles, gargantuan?' she replied, snatching the toast from Harry's hand. 'Oh yeah, he's with Pansy,' and unaware of the distress he'd just caused in his dear friend, he began to eat nine or ten slices of bacon (it really was good that he played Quidditch, or else he might soon begin to resemble our dear friend Dudley).  
  
Draco meanwhile was forced to put up with Blaise Zabini's accusations that he'd done something horrible to Zabini's 'beautiful' Pansy. While Draco had tried to explain over and over again that the only way he could be persuaded to touch Pansy was if there was an Imperius curse involved, Zabini was too much in love with the girl to realize that some people (and in fact, the rest of the school) might think that she was somewhat less then desirable. They were coming perilously close to fisticuffs when Pansy and Ron arrived on the scene, instigating just as much, if not more conversation from their fellow students. However Pansy and Ron were quite aware of the commotion they were making, and while Pansy reveled in it, preening like a debutante at a ball, Ron blushed a hideous crimson for the second time, and trying to become as inconspicuous as possible (a task that was doomed to defeat if we consider that Ron was 6'3, had flaming red curls, and was white everywhere that he wasn't freckled) made his way to sit next to Harry. "Why didn't you tell me that you were seeing Draco?' he hissed sharply, while poking Harry with one of his long, thick fingers, 'That's disgusting!' Although Ron was trying to be quiet and to attract as little attention as possible, this hope was soon destroyed as Hermione heard what he was saying and shrilly cried 'You're seeing WHOM?' Covering his face in his hands, Harry muttered, 'Draco Malfoy' and waited for the storm to descend.  
  
A/N Well that seems as good a place as any to end this little chapter of our tale. I'm sorry I haven't updated in . oh god it must be close to a year now. I have been . well there are no real excuses are there? Suffice it to say I hit a massive, massive writer's block, went through a hell of a lot of stress (broke up with my boyfriend, fell in love with someone who lives 700 miles away, etc) and finally calmed down enough to write this. Although I fear that my former audience has ceased to care about the plights of poor little Draco and his sweet lover Harry, I hope I'll find a new one with this chapter. Either way the next chapter shall be the last (or at least I think so). Shalom Chaverim!! (Goodbye friends in Hebrew). 


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